Lemonade
by LobsterLobster
Summary: Chapter 2 Update: After a supply run gone wrong, Daryl and Michonne must fight for their lives! Chapter 3 Update: Rick can see that Michonne is suffering. Will he be able to comfort her?
1. Chapter 1 - When Life Gives You Lemons

Lemonade

Summary: Michonne is preparing a special surprise for her two favorite people!

A/N: Season 4 except the Governor was mauled by a bear and never came back to the prison.

I rewrote this whole chapter. I really hope you like it! Please review!

….

Chapter 1 – When Life Gives You Lemons

Michonne pushed aside the curtain to the prison cell turned bedroom that she shared with Beth.

It'd been a couple weeks since the illness had passed through the community of survivors and Michonne had ultimately given up her search for the Governor. Like Daryl said, the trail was cold.

Until the other cell blocks could be cleaned out again most people had to double up and share rooms. Beth was a good roommate but right now Michonne was relieved to find the room empty.

She paused and glanced around to make sure that nobody was nearby to interrupt her mission before pulling the curtain closed behind her.

The crate with her meager possessions sat in the corner of the room, a jacket casually draped over it.

Michonne removed the jacket and rummaged around, pushing aside the box of matches, the little sewing kit, and various other items that she'd collected on her travels.

She pulled out a beat-up can of Country Time pink lemonade mix and set it on the messy desk.

Then she picked up a plastic grocery bag. Inside were two water bottles tied up next to a cool pack that she'd found in a first aid kit.

Good. The water felt nice and cool. She unwound the shoelaces tying it all together and set the water bottles on the desk.

Michonne smiled, pleased that everything was proceeding according to plan.

Working quickly, Michonne uncapped the bottles and carefully scooped some sugary pink powder into each one. She screwed the caps back on, brushed off the extra powder that had spilled, and shook vigorously until the light pink color spread through the water.

Pausing to take a small sip, Michonne decided that the lemonade was just sweet enough. Everything was ready.

Before Beth or someone else could come in and ask what she was doing and why they couldn't have some, Michonne put both water bottles back in the flimsy plastic sack, tossing the cool pack in as well for good measure.

Pushing aside the curtain, Michonne made a bee-line for the exit.

Once outside in the golden afternoon heat, she headed straight for the field, squinting against the brightness until she spotted what she was looking for.

….

Rick Grimes knelt beside a row of tomato plants, sleeves rolled up above his elbows. The work had a certain rhythm to it. Push the trowel into the dirt, pull the weeds, toss them aside, and repeat.

Aside from Hershel, Carl, and occasionally Daryl, the others rarely came to bother him out here. The garden was a small refuge from the outside world and Rick liked it that way.

An old country song hummed in his ears, barely drowning out the sounds of the ever-present walkers lining the fence. The music reminded him of riding in his grandfather's truck when he was a kid.

Suddenly Rick felt something tap his shoulder, startling him out of his memories. He looked up to see Michonne standing beside him and immediately felt embarrassed that he hadn't heard her approach.

"Hey," Rick said, taking off his gloves and pulling the ear buds out.

As always, he was happy to see the dreadlocked warrior woman. For a second he was worried that something was wrong, but her coy smile told him not to worry.

Sometimes he tried to tell himself not to get too used to having her around, but it didn't do much good. The fact was Rick enjoyed being around her. He knew Carl did too.

"Drink this," Michonne said before he could form a question.

She held out a plastic water bottle.

Rick tried to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand but only managed to smear a streak of dirt on his face. It was already late summer and the Georgia heat had not abated in the least.

He took the proffered bottle gratefully, only at that moment realizing how thirsty he was.

"It's cold!" Rick exclaimed.

The cool sensation against his palm was completely unexpected. Upon closer examination, he realized that the clear bottle held a light pink liquid.

"What is this?" Rick asked, disoriented. Michonne tended to have that effect on him, with or without surprise gifts.

"Hurry and drink it already," Michonne answered ambiguously.

Rick did as he was told. He screwed off the plastic cap and brought the bottle to his lips.

The sweet, lemony flavor filled his mouth and for a heartbeat he was back at his old house, sitting on the porch after a long day on patrol, watching a young Carl run around and play with his toy trucks in the grass.

"Lemonade!" Rick said in wonder, a grin spreading across his face.

"Where did you get this?" he asked Michonne, tilting his head curiously.

"I made it," Michonne replied, shrugging nonchalantly.

Rick smiled. If she didn't want to share her secrets, that was fine. He took another long swallow, feeling the cool liquid slide down his throat and spread through his stomach. It was such a simple thing, but he'd almost forgotten what it felt like.

He felt a rare moment of lightness. They were standing in a little island of calm in a world full of roaming death and for a moment all of his worries receded like the tide going out. He wanted to hold on to this feeling as long as he could.

Rick titled the now half empty bottle towards Michonne with a questioning look, belatedly realizing that she didn't have any.

Michonne shook her head, "I had some earlier."

"I thought you were going on the run today," Rick said.

"It got pushed back," Michonne explained, "If Daryl can fix the truck we'll probably go in the morning."

Rick nodded.

Sometimes he felt guilty for not going on runs anymore, but not enough to go. This is where he belonged, close to Carl and Judith, away from the life and death decisions.

A couple people walked along the gravel driveway near the edge of the garden, probably on their way to join the next fence clearing shift. Distracted from their peaceful moment together, Rick and Michonne glanced over to see that they were newcomers, from a small group that Daryl and Glenn had brought in about a week ago.

Snippets of their conversation carried through the still air. Rick kept quiet, inadvertently eavesdropping.

"To hear Glenn tell it, you'd think he was some badass cowboy or something, rode into Atlanta on horseback and saved a whole bunch of people from the dead ones. Some real Wild West shit."

"I thought he drove a tank into Atlanta."

"What? No, man, that can't be it. I thought he was a cop, not a soldier."

"No, I'm telling you, there was definitely a tank."

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. Anyway, what I'm saying is, all that can't be true. The guy who did all that, led them all the way out of Atlanta, is the same guy who spends all day watering the flowers? Doesn't add up."

One of them laughed and the other continued, "There's no way some lame farmer could do all that. Ain't no way, man…"

Their conversation faded as they passed by.

Rick's expression was unreadable. He looked at the sky, at the tomatoes, anywhere but at Michonne.

The words of a few strangers didn't bother him. Rather, what he didn't want to face was the possibility that the woman standing beside him might agree with them.

At this point Michonne was probably the only one who hadn't given him some version of the 'You can be a farmer, Rick, but you can't _just_ be a farmer' speech.

Rick frowned, hand tightening on the water bottle, bracing for the worst.

"Hey," Michonne said, nudging him with her elbow.

"Don't listen to them, Rick," she said with her trademark confidence.

She had a way of making him believe whatever she was saying, even if he'd been thinking the opposite only a moment ago.

He finally met her eyes, feeling more relieved than he should have.

Her earnest expression softened then, a warm smile glinting in her brown eyes.

"Besides," Michonne added lightly, "I think farmer looks good on you."

Rick couldn't help but crack a smile. Michonne was definitely flirting with him and he wasn't going to pass up on the perfect opportunity to tease her back.

"So you have a thing for farmers, huh?" Rick said in his Southern drawl, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Hmm…" she made a show of considering, then shook her head and looked right at him.

Rick took a long swallow of lemonade, feeling proud that he turned the tables on her for once.

"No, just the one," she said decided.

The lemonade caught in Rick's throat. He coughed and sputtered and tried to cover his mouth with his hand.

Michonne laughed out loud, highly entertained by Rick's reaction. He was sure that his face was bright red.

Michonne patted him on the back, trying to help despite her laughter.

He coughed again to clear his throat and looked at Michonne. She was still giggling, wiping her eyes from laughing so hard.

'Did Michonne just admit that she has a thing for me?' The question spun around in Rick's head, the suddenness of it mixing with the possible implications mixing with disbelief.

Michonne, finally done laughing, caught Rick staring at her curiously. For possibly the first time ever, Michonne looked away first.

Rick opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted.

"Hey, I thought you left already!" Carl's voice called from across the garden.

The two adults turned to see the boy making his way between the rows towards them.

"I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye," Michonne smiled at her young friend.

Carl stopped beside his father. He brushed the dirt off his hands and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm, only managing to spread more dirt around.

"Truck wouldn't start, would it?" Carl asked knowingly.

Michonne conceded, "That too."

Rick decided to put Michonne's comment out of his mind for the moment. She was probably only teasing him anyway.

"I got you something," Michonne said to Carl, holding out her plastic bag.

Carl's face lit up with excitement. He took the bag and reached inside, his hand closing around a full water bottle.

"Whoa! It's cold!" he exclaimed in surprise.

"Hurry up and drink it," Michonne urged him.

Carl didn't need to be told twice.

"This is awesome! Lemonade is my favorite thing in the world!" he shouted excitedly, all but jumping up and down, "Michonne! Where did you get this?"

"I made it," she replied, grinning at Carl's enthusiasm.

"Yeah, but how? How did you get it cold?" Carl blurted out in between sips of sweet tangy lemonade.

"With this," Michonne took the cold pack out of the bag and handed it to Carl.

"Ohh," Carl said, holding the small pack against his cheek.

"It's good, isn't it?" Rick said, feeling happier than he had in a very long time.

"Mhmm…" Carl's mouth was full.

"What do you say?" Rick prompted the boy, titling his head towards Michonne.

"Thank you!" Carl said.

"Thank you," Rick added sincerely.

It always warmed Rick's heart to see how affectionate Michonne was with Carl. She brought happiness to his son's life when Rick couldn't. He wanted to say thank you for making Carl smile today.

Michonne gave him a look that made him think maybe she understood what he meant to say. She always seemed to understand.

"Now, don't go telling anyone else you got the special treatment, okay? I have more lemonade mix but that was the only ice pack." Michonne cautioned.

"I won't," Carl promised.

"Here, you should have some too," Carl suddenly realized that Michonne didn't have any lemonade.

"Nah," Michonne shook her head.

"Come on, we always share," Carl insisted.

Michonne hesitated, and then gratefully accepted.

The three world-weary survivors lingered in the bright sunshine, sipping lemonade until the last sweet drops were gone, enjoying each other's company.

Eventually Michonne wandered off to see if she could help Daryl with the truck and Carl reluctantly returned to his chores.

Rick Grimes got back to work pulling weeds from his tomato patch, a sweet taste lingering in his mouth.

Michonne's bright smile and the way her eyes lit up when she laughed kept replaying in his mind like snippets of an old song that he'd almost forgotten about.

His mp3 player and headphones stayed in his pocket.

…..

TBC!


	2. Chapter 2 - As Good a Day as Any

Lemonade

Summary: Michonne and Daryl's supply run does not go as planned. Will they make it back home to their family?

A/N: It has come to my attention that this fanfic had too much fluff and not enough danger and violence. That discrepancy has since been remedied. Please enjoy this all-new chapter!

….

Chapter 2 – As Good a Day as Any

Carl pushed his shovel into the dirt with significantly more force than was necessary. He continued to dig in this manner, paying little attention to where he was digging and where the loose dirt was going.

Rick paused and watched his son for a few minutes.

They were in the process of clearing a new section to expand the garden. Rick had an orderly plan for the rows but Carl was making a mess of things.

"Carl," Rick said, but the boy didn't answer.

"Carl," Rick repeated more loudly, asking, "What's wrong?"

Carl finally stopped what he was doing and glared at his father, clearly irritated at being interrupted by a question that Rick surely knew the answer to.

Rick refused to be baited into an argument. He waited for Carl to answer.

"They're still not back yet," Carl finally said.

"I know," Rick said, squinting against the sun to look towards the prison gate.

Daryl had finally fixed the truck and he and Michonne left to check out some warehouses they'd heard about, promising that they'd be back in a day or two, three max. That had been four days ago.

It was too soon to worry, Rick told himself. These things take longer than expected more often than not.

"You're worried about them," Rick said, less a question than a statement.

Carl shrugged. He knew as well as anyone what could happen out in the world. He was torn between cold acceptance of how things were and simmering anger.

What if Michonne and Daryl were in trouble, and he or his dad could have helped them, but instead they were stuck here, farming?

"We're talking about Michonne, remember? She always comes back," Rick said with as much confidence as he could summon.

"Daryl too. They always come back."

Carl only nodded, hoping that his father was right. He went back to digging.

…

"Go!" Daryl's gruff voice cut through the growls and snarls of the walkers piled against the door.

Daryl leaned against the door with all his weight. Grey fingers pushed through the cracks like the probing tentacles of a grotesque sea monster. The rusted door was seconds away from buckling.

They were backed into a room with no other exit aside from one window on the far wall, high and narrow. It was only large enough for one person at a time.

"GO!" Daryl yelled again, his feet slipping on the cement floor.

Michonne frowned.

Go and do what? Leave him there to die while she escaped? To walk back to the prison alone, to see Rick's face when he realizes that she's alone. To see his heart break when he realizes that his brother is dead?

"No."

Daryl looked at her uncertainly.

Michonne took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. She rolled her neck and loosened up her muscles, preparing for action. In one smooth motion she pulled her katana from its sheath and held it in front of her body.

"Open the door," she said calmly.

If Daryl was prepared to lay down his life for his friend, he was also prepared to fight to the death. He recognized the fire in Michonne's eyes and accepted the change of plan with a renewed determination.

If this was their end, so be it. They would take as many walkers out with them as they could.

This was as good a day as any to die.

…

Despite what he'd told Carl, Rick was worried.

He lowered the binoculars and rubbed his tired eyes. It was too dark to see anything out there but that hadn't stopped him from looking.

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep anyway, Rick had volunteered to take the first shift on watch. The hours crept by, each one failing to reveal a pair of headlights approaching from the distance, or the flash of steel in the moonlight, or a faint whistle.

Finally, Rick decided to give up the watch.

If Daryl and Michonne were still out there, they knew better than to travel at night.

Rick shook his head, trying to banish his doubts.

In the past two years he has seen his fair share of disasters and tragedies.

He has also seen what Hershel would probably call miracles; finding Lori and Carl outside of Atlanta, finding Hershel after Carl was shot, Michonne walking towards the prison fence after being kidnapped by Merle.

However, standing in the midnight gloom of a bombed out watch tower with the sounds of the dead rising above the crickets, it was easier to remember the tragedies than the miracles.

Daryl and Michonne were days overdue and something had definitely gone wrong.

In the morning, he would go after them. He'd take Glenn, maybe Tyreese. He had to. He owed both Daryl and Michonne his life, each many times over.

But that would mean leaving Carl and Judith behind. There were so few of their group left now, so few to keep the prison standing. Could he justify it? Leaving his children alone to search for two people who could be anywhere?

In the end Rick decided that was a question to ask in the daylight. He wouldn't do anyone any good unless he got some rest.

Taking one last look towards the forest, Rick reluctantly set the binoculars aside and climbed down from the tower.

…

With a wet sounding crunch, another walker fell to the ground, a generous portion of its skull landing several feet from the rest of the body.

Michonne gasped for breath, trying to calm her racing heart. With each swing of her sword the blade felt heavier, her arms weaker, her legs slower.

"C'mon," Daryl grunted, as much to himself as to Michonne.

It was dark now. Only a hint of moonlight shone through the gloomy forest.

They had escaped the warehouse after a running battle, alternatively fighting and hiding, but mostly fighting. There were a few brief respites, holed up in an office or behind some tipped over shelving, never long enough.

Michonne followed Daryl through the trees, propelled by sheer force of will.

Hours of fighting and running, with no food or water, had taken a toll. For the first time in a long time, Michonne felt so tired that, if she closed her eyes for a second too long, she would fall asleep right there.

It was quieter now but Michonne wasn't fooled. More walkers were only minutes away, probably less.

For every corpse she struck down, a hundred stumbled through the world ready to take its place. They would never stop.

Wasn't this enough? Step after step, day after day, stretching into weeks and months and years. She'd faced it all, every endless terror and she hadn't flinched. She'd come so much further than she'd ever thought she would.

Maybe this was enough. Maybe this was the end. Maybe she could see Andre again. They could be together again, somewhere safe and warm and happy.

Her pace slowed and the distance between herself and Daryl grew.

She could hold her son in her arms again, sing him to sleep at night, cover the fridge with his crayon scribbles, tease him until his laughter filled the house…

Up ahead, Daryl fell to the ground with a startled yelp. He let out a few choice expletives, pain clear in his voice.

Stop thinking about yourself! Help him! Michonne chastised herself sternly, focusing again on her surroundings.

She ran towards her friend as quickly as she could.

"No! Stay –aghh, Stay back!" Daryl ordered gruffly when she was only a few feet away.

"Daryl!" Michonne stopped short.

"Barbed wire," Daryl explained, his breath ragged.

Sure enough, his legs were caught up in a tangle of rusted barbed wire. In the dark and with heavy clumps of leaves covering it, the sharp wire was nearly impossible to see unless you knew where to look.

Michonne saw that the wire stretched around a small clearing with what had to be a collapsed tent in the middle. It was an abandoned campsite.

A raspy growl, alerted by the commotion, sounded from nearby. There was a walker caught in the barbed wire about ten feet away. From the growing noise, there were probably more, just out of sight.

There was no way to know if they were walkers who had blindly stumbled into the sharp coils of wire and been unable to get free or if they had been people who got caught by the wire and then caught by walkers. In the end, it didn't matter.

"Can you get free?" she asked Daryl desperately.

They didn't have much time.

He tried to twist around into a sitting position but the more he moved, the deeper the wire cut into his legs. Daryl clamped his teeth shut to keep from yelling in pain.

"Hold still," Michonne ordered.

She glanced around and, seeing that the area was clear, sheathed her sword. As carefully as she could, Michonne pulled the stubborn strands of wire apart enough for Daryl to free one leg and then the other.

Her leather gloves protected her palms but she could feel where the sharp metal cut her fingers. Grimacing, Michonne wiped her hands on her pants and reached out to help Daryl stand.

Dizzy with pain, Daryl got back on his feet.

If Merle were here, I know just what he would do, Daryl thought bitterly. His older brother would laugh out loud, shaking his head in dismay, and call Daryl an idiot.

'Dumbass. Tripping over your own feet!' Merle's voice taunted him.

"Shut up," Daryl groaned, barely audible.

Michonne frowned, uncertain if he was talking to her. She draped one of Daryl's arms around her shoulders and wrapped her own arm around him for support.

'Might as well sit down and wait for the biters to gut you, Baby Brother, the way you're going at it. You ain't no good without me. You never were,' Merle never did know when to let up.

"Shut up!" Daryl hissed, his voice stronger, "You don't know nothing!"

"Come on," Michonne said softly, "Let's go."

Daryl leaned heavily against Michonne. She gripped her sword in her free hand, the hilt slick with her own blood.

If they found the road again, they might be able to make it back to the prison before dawn.

They set off again, moving at an agonizingly slow pace. Monsters and ghosts dogged their every step.

…

TBC!

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Please review!


	3. Chapter 3 - I'm Your Family Now

Lemonade

Summary: Will Rick be able to comfort Michonne when she needs him?

A/N: This chapter is all Richonne hurt/comfort. I hope you like it!

…

Chapter 3 – I'm Your Family Now

Rick Grimes pushed aside the curtain to his empty cell and felt a pang of loneliness.

Beth brought Judith's crib into her cell for the night whenever he took a late shift on watch. He would see his daughter in a few hours but he still missed her presence.

Rick slowly undid his gun belt and kicked off his boots. Finally he laid down and fell into an uneasy sleep.

A soft noise pulled Rick into wakefulness. He sat up half way, his eyes straining to focus in the dark. He held his breath, sure that there was another presence nearby.

"Rick…" a whisper came from the doorway.

Rick could just make out a figure standing there, leaning against the doorframe. He knew instinctively that it was her.

"Michonne," he said, getting up and crossing the short distance between them.

"You're back," he smiled, relief falling over his shoulders like a bucket of cool water.

Michonne didn't say anything. She raised her head to look at him but it was so dark inside the prison that he could barely make out her features.

Rick turned and fumbled for his camp lantern, clicking the dial to the lowest setting. The small room filled with shadows.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Rick asked, concerned by Michonne's silence.

"No, I'm okay," she shook her head and took a few steps into the lantern's dim glow.

Her eyes drifted towards a cardboard box full of Judith's clothes.

"Daryl's hurt pretty bad. Cuts on his legs. Hershel's fixing him up, over in D Block. Hershel says he'll be okay," Michonne told him.

Rick nodded somberly, "Okay."

Michonne seemed to be staring off into space. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and back again. As usual, she wore her katana slung over her shoulder. There were dark smears on the hilt.

A new fear flickered in Rick's heart. Michonne's arms hung limply at her sides.

Rick reached out and took ahold of one wrist and then the other, bringing her hands up into the light. She didn't protest. Her hands were sticky with blood.

"Mich-" Rick began but was cut off.

"Got cut on the barbed wire," Michonne explained before he could jump to conclusions.

"I wasn't bit. I promise. I'm okay," she said sincerely, meeting his troubled eyes.

He looked her over more closely and, satisfied that she seemed to be telling the truth, returned his attention to her hands.

"We should get Hershel to…" Rick trailed off, remembering that the veterinarian was busy.

"I'll take care of it," Rick decided, instructing her, "Sit down."

Michonne obeyed, sitting on the edge of his bed, her shoulders hunched. Rick shifted through his boxes until he found the spare gauze, left over from when he'd injured his hand several weeks ago.

He turned the lantern a little brighter and sat down next to Michonne. The way her dreadlocks fell forwards hid her face from view.

Cautious, Rick reached out and gently pulled her arm towards the light. Her skin was clammy and cool to the touch, much cooler than it should have been. Her clothes were wet and dark water was slowly pooling around her mud-caked boots.

"Michonne, you're freezing. What happened?" Rick asked.

She took a ragged breath and let it out slowly. She didn't answer. Rick was reminded of how she was when she first arrived at the prison, closed off and reluctant to talk.

He decided not to ask any more questions, at least not until morning, and instead went about applying first aid. Attempting to be gentle but efficient, he removed her leather gloves. Next he poured water over her hands and dried them with a spare towel.

There were red cuts marring several of her fingers. Rick hesitated, not sure he had the skill or the materials to properly bandage each one.

In the end, he kept her fingers together and wound gauze around her hands until they looked like mittens. It wasn't pretty, but it was better than nothing. Hershel or Carol could fix it up properly in the morning.

"The truck broke down," Michonne broke the silence, her voice sounding distant even though she was sitting right beside Rick.

"Should have stopped there, turned around. But we didn't. We were almost to the warehouse, so we kept going. The whole place was overrun…" she continued the story.

As she spoke, Rick felt some unnamed disquiet gnawing at him.

"We had to run. And swim. We ended up crossing a muddy river. Daryl said it was the Yellowjacket," Michonne recounted, finally explaining why she was so cold.

"I know you're tired, but you really need to get out of those wet clothes, get warm," Rick spoke, worried that she would catch a cold or something more serious.

"Mhmm," Michonne agreed absently, but didn't make any move to leave.

The task of standing up, walking to her cell and finding clean clothes was simply not feasible given her exhaustion. Fortunately, Rick had another solution.

"Here, wear these for now," he said, retrieving a box of his own spare clothes.

He pulled out a worn farming shirt and then decided to let her choose what to wear. He got up and crossed the room, intending to give her some privacy.

"Uh, Rick…?" Michonne stopped him.

Rick turned back to see Michonne awkwardly attempting to unzip her leather vest. Moving the small zipper with her hands bandaged up like mittens was proving difficult. Frustrated, she gave up and looked at Rick with a defeated expression.

"Oh, uh, here," Rick unzipped her vest and gently eased it over her shoulders, dropping the muddy garment onto the ground.

Standing so close to her, whatever happened next, Rick would follow her lead. Whatever she needed from him, he would give it.

Michonne broke his gaze, her eyes drifting around the small room. It was cluttered and looked very lived-in, Judith's few toys scattered here and there. Michonne shivered and returned her focus to the task at hand.

"I got it from here," she said, her voice still quieter than usual.

Rick nodded, "I'll be right outside."

Leaning his back against the wall beside his doorway, Rick could hear Michonne moving slowly. The night sounds of the cell block floated around him; people shifting in their sleep, mice skittering around corners, somebody snoring, somebody else returning from watch duty.

There were probably only a few hours left before dawn. Rick would check on Daryl in the morning. First he had to make sure Michonne was alright.

Rick bent his head and rubbed his eyes.

Michonne and Daryl made it back. They were both home, safe. He should feel relieved. He did feel relieved, but he couldn't shake the deep uneasiness that had settled over him.

After a few minutes, he pinned down the feeling. Worry.

Rick frowned. Since when did he worry about Michonne? She wasn't afraid of anything. Even when she gets hurt or goes for days without sleeping or eating, she doesn't complain. She's indestructible. This world, so full of destruction, can barely touch her.

But that isn't completely true, is it? Rick's thoughts spun around and around.

Michonne is only human. What if one day something happens and she doesn't come back?

Rick took a deep breath and shook his head. It was no use going down that rabbit hole. She was home now and that was enough. It had to be.

Rick looked up again, realizing that he'd been lost in his thoughts and he couldn't hear any movement inside his cell.

"Michonne?" he called softly.

There was no answer.

He pushed aside the curtain and walked inside. Michonne's clothes were in a soggy, muddy pile on the floor; vest, tank top, pants, boots, socks, underwear. Her sword lay on top of the desk. She sat on the edge of his bed, chin resting on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs.

Not sure what else to do, Rick moved the now almost empty box of clothes off the bed and sat down next to her. She was wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his farming shirts. A pair of much too big socks covered her feet.

"Hey, you should get some sleep," Rick said softly.

Michonne took a ragged breath, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. She was crying.

"What is it?" he asked hesitantly.

She didn't seem to hear him.

Rick struggled with indecision. If he went to comfort her, he knew it would be a sort of turning point. He wouldn't be able to pretend anymore. He wouldn't be able to avoid how much he cared about her, how strong his feelings for her had grown.

In the end, it wasn't really a decision at all. Michonne's tears echoed in his heart. He knew exactly how she felt, too tired and too beaten down to fight the sadness back any longer.

Rick moved close beside Michonne and wrapped his arms around her. She was tense for all of a second before she collapsed into his embrace. He held her tightly.

"I miss them, I miss them so much…" she whispered, choking back a sob, "I hate him for what he did, but…I loved him, before…"

"I know, I know," Rick said, his throat feeling tight.

He had felt that same way, too many times. Knowing they'd betrayed you, didn't believe in you anymore, but still wishing for a second chance, to make things right, to see them again. That's how it'd been with Shane. And with Lori, especially Lori.

"They're both gone and I'm still here…he never thought I would make it," Michonne cried, her voice quiet and sad, "I miss him…I miss my Andre every minute…"

"I'm sorry, Michonne," Rick said, holding her close, not knowing what else he could do. He hoped it was enough, "I'm so sorry…"

Rick's eyes were wet now too.

"You're home now, Michonne. You're safe," his voice was low as he rubbed her back soothingly, "We're your family now, okay? Me, Carl, Daryl, Carol, Glenn and Maggie and Beth…we're your family now."

Michonne gradually became calmer, the tension and the sadness slowly leaving her body. She sniffled and blew her nose on her sleeve.

Eventually Rick became aware that they'd both been quiet for some time. Michonne's breathing was slow and steady. She was asleep.

With his left arm still around her shoulders for support, he hooked his right arm under her knees and shifted her body so that she could stretch her legs out on the bed. Then he leaned back, gently lowering her down.

He realized somewhat belatedly that her head was still resting on his shoulder and they were now lying side by side on the bed. He briefly considered getting up and going to sleep on the top bunk but then Michonne mumbled something unintelligible and draped her free arm over his chest, snuggling in close.

Whether this was a good idea or not, he didn't know. The truth was he didn't want to move.

If Michonne didn't appreciate their intimate sleeping arrangement, Rick decided, well then she could always stab him with a katana in the morning. Problem solved.

Rick's eyes became heavy and, his head swimming in the warmth of Michonne's closeness, he drifted off to sleep.

…..

TBC!

A/N: Rick's first aid skills may be somewhat lacking, but I'd say he did a good job of comforting Michonne! I'd love to have a scene on the show where Rick is worried about Michonne and shows how much he cares about her.

P.S. While rewriting this story, chapter two became two chapters and the old chapter three now has some significant continuity issues. So, long story short, I'm deleting the old last two chapters and will repost the new versions. Sorry for any confusion. My short stories always seem to become longer than expected!


End file.
